


Always a Bigger Fish

by Fluffysminion



Category: Warhammer 40.000
Genre: Chaos, Demon Prince, Mutation Stage: Five, Port Caius
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-09
Updated: 2020-01-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:07:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22184572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fluffysminion/pseuds/Fluffysminion
Summary: A summoning goes too well, and something very powerful indeed has been unleashed upon Port Caius.





	Always a Bigger Fish

It is a subtle wrongness, an irregularity in the flow of time that Jaspar wouldn’t have noticed before. But living on the warp-world of Penumbra had taught him familiarity with the ways the warp altered the laws of reality, and something about the transition from there to here, from then to now had been too soft and dreamlike to be natural. Which meant someone was doing magic. Shit.

Nikota. The sense of wrongness is building (or is that his own panic?). If he can feel it out here that means it is too late to stop whatever it is from happening. But there might still be time to get her out before it goes wrong.

He leaps down from the beam he’d been perched on onto the roof of the structure Nikota had entered. Like most of the “buildings” of Port Quays it was haphazardly built; and kept upright mainly by the weight of other structures packed in around it. Which means it shouldn’t be a surprise when the patched roof gives way beneath him.

There is a break in the chanting as the mutant crashes through the ceiling, but with the sixth sacrifice the way has been opened, and something has answered.

The daemon _folds_ itself through the opened crack, barely wide enough to permit it passage. Whether they expected something smaller or simply couldn't muster enough power, it isn't sure. Its entry into the Materium makes waves, ripples of emotion and sensation that flood outwards from the centre point. Pain. Relief. Desperation. Love. Ecstasy. Terror.

One hand reaches down from nowhere first to brace against the floor and take its weight as the rest of the daemon climbs through, limbs folding and unfolding with unlikely, escheresque grace.

Eventually its feet touch ground and it slips into a crouch, head swaying curiously as if to scent the air as it surveys the wreckage of the decidedly seedy "summoning chamber". The collapsed mutant gets no more or less attention than everything else. All in all it's seen worse, but it's also seen much better.

The ritualist staggers backwards, their colourful robes billowing as they fall to their knees. “B-b-beautiful.” They look upon the results of their handiwork with equal parts terror and awe. “Being of the realms beyond! I beseech you, do no harm unto the living, for I have come to bargain.”

While the cultist speaks their part Jaspar gingerly experiments with moving, it’s painful, but not bad enough to make him think anything’s broken. He climbs to his feet cautiously, wary of worsening the damage or attracting the attention of the thing the ritualist is addressing. Eventually though he does have to look round, at the sight of the coiled daemon his legs give way beneath him and he crashes back to the floor.

Oh, that makes a pleasant change. There's generally far too much _commanding_ and not nearly enough _beseeching_. The summoner's right is not waived, but their will is not nearly enough to shackle Desmios. Especially in the aftermath of its arrival. So many ritualists forget about that little complication.

But he doesn't just eat the scrub, that would be extremely rude. Nostalgia turns the corners of his maw up with amusement. He shifts, adjusting his posture, and colours ripple across the iridescent scales of his armour. Not enough room in here to stand on his hind legs - unless he moved over to that hole in the roof - another entertaining thought. When he speaks, his words echo both in the air and in the minds of all present. ~" _What do you desire, little ritualist?_ "~

They shake, and they open and close their mouth a few times before they find the words they are looking for. “I- I want- I would like a guide. To teach me about the immaterium, about the gods, and how to call upon that power. To help me become better, so I can be the person I know I can be and win the recognition I deserve. Maybe even to protect me from the other things out there that may wish to use me.” The shaking stops somewhere in the middle of their speech, and by the end they are staring at the daemon’s face with determination in their eyes. “I, er, realise there will be a price of course.”

~" _Ohhh, sweet thing. Every thing wants to use you. It is the nature of the galaxy. Your work is skilful._ "~ One of the hands that is not currently serving to support its weight reaches out to trace the summoning diagram - entirely indifferent to the lines that are nominally bindings. ~" _But the first thing I will tell you is this - you have called up something entirely too potent to serve as a familiar._ "~

It pauses just a moment to let that be processed. ~" _Have no fear, sweet thing. I will guide you and protect you. But my ambitions are larger than that. As for price... you will find that many things are their own price._ "~

It looks around the room again, long neck easily permitting three hundred and sixty degrees of rotation. ~" _Your ritual site appears to be lacking in structural integrity. Is there a problem?_ "~

Their eyes widen as the bindings are crossed, and they quickly bow their head once the implications of that sink in. Their answer comes immediately after the question is asked. “It happened at the end of the ritual, that thing fell through the ceiling and- and I thought, for a moment, it might have been what was summoned. But I see now how naïve that was. There is no comparison.”

The debris shifts as Jaspar twitches, slowly regaining consciousness. He blinks, disoriented, trying to work out where he is and why everything hurts so damn much.

~" _Well then, let's see what we have._ "~ One human soul, shot through with the touch of the Warp. Not desperately remarkable to a superficial inspection. The daemon twists round and leans in to sniff the mutant, jaws parting to taste the air. Not that it _needs_ to get any closer to smell him, but there's nothing wrong with a bit of theatrics.

~" _Hello, little intruder. You appear to have suffered a mishap._ "~

The proximity of the daemon jolts him violently into alertness. He starts to scramble away but extracting his limbs from underneath himself proves painful and difficult to do with those jaws above him. So he’s stuck belly up beneath the open maw of a large daemon. Great. He’d really missed this.

“It’s been a while since anyone’s called me little, not since the last daemon I met in fact. And do you have to be so close? Even humans can smell me from across a room. As they are so fond of pointing out.” Each word is carefully pronounced but as a result there is an awkwardness to his speech.

The ritualist lifts their head from their position of subservience to try to peer around the daemon to see what is happening. They’re not willing to get up off their knees though, so their view is limited.

~" _I don't,_ "~ the daemon acknowledges ~" _But I'm choosing to be._ "~

~" _How did you come to be in this spot of trouble, hm? Do you have malicious intentions towards the sorcerer who sought to call and bind me?_ "~ Its tone suggests neither approval nor disapproval of this, merely amused curiosity.

“No more than I would anyone else. I have no particular desire to get involved in your kind’s bullshit again. I’m here because someone I know is nearby, and I was worried _they_ might get caught in a position like _this_.” He laughs, scarred lips parting to display large cat-like teeth. “But I forgot how terrible my luck is with these things and the roof gave way beneath me. So now she’s obviously not here and I’m afraid you’ve got me instead.”

He rearranges himself so he’s lying slightly less awkwardly; and reaches up with his free hand to check his antlers. Somehow, miraculously, he’s managed to avoid damaging them. Being in velvet they were particularly fragile, and with his current state of panic he wasn’t confident he’d feel the pain if they were injured.

Over by the ritual circle the one who was hoping to bind a familiar is not happy about the way things are getting out of hand. They stand up and take a cautious step towards the mutant holding their daemon’s attention, though they are not bold enough to actively try to win it back.

The daemon tips back its head and laughs a wild, inhuman laugh. ~" _Oh, you are funny. Was it your previous misadventures with the daemonic that earned you your dramatic 'gifts', hmm?_ "~ It settles back a little, allowing Jaspar more room to move.

It is aware, of course, of the ritualist's approach, and their distress. But for now it is more interested in finding out what they will do next than in alleviating their concerns.

~" _Do you think your friend will come looking for you in turn? Loyalty is a commendable trait..._ "~

“I’d like to think she’s more sensible than that. But I can’t be sure, that’s how it is with children. They never learn what it is you think you’re teaching them.” With a bit more space he is able to sit up and actually see the room he’s landed in. The parts of it not obscured by the daemon’s coils and limbs anyway. Not much of note besides the ritual circle, the bodies of the sacrifices are still there underneath the thing they were killed to summon. He swallows. A pity.

“It’s surprisingly hard to tell, I’ve changed a lot since I returned to realspace. But I suspect the seeds were sown in the warp. It’s not good for a soul to be in a place like that.” He scowls, his tone full of bitterness. “It wasn’t for mine anyway. Not all of us have a greater daemon to patch the fraying edges.”

Given confidence by the daemon’s lack of response the ritualist advances until they are right behind the daemon’s head, and close enough to reach up and touch its neck. Which, after a few moments of agonising, they do.

The daemon hums: a low thoughtful sound that has something in common with the purr of a tiger and something in common with the droning of upsettingly large bees and perhaps something of a musical instrument. ~" _If you wish to fray less randomly and destructively, it is wise to petition the gods for favour. You will still unravel with time - all things do - but it may be slower and less_ unpleasant _for you._ "~

The tentative touch of the ritualist provokes a low, rumbling chuckle. ~" _Yes, sweet thing?_ "~ One enormous, six-fingered hand reaches out to trail gentle fingers down the cultist's back, from shoulders to thighs, barely grazing their clothes.

They jump, but then try to hold themselves still. “You said that your ambitions were larger than mine, and I was wondering, what is it you want to do? What do you want me to do?”

While the ritualist talks Jaspar gets his legs underneath him so he’s standing on all fours. Still trying not to make any sudden moves or get any closer to the daemon than he has to, he slinks around to get a better view of them. “From my experience it is rarely wise to draw the attention of things bigger than yourself. And even more foolish to deal with them.” Eyes back to the daemon. “But enough about my soul, what about your pet’s? I’m curious how we compare.”

~" _My ambitions?_ "~ Another laugh, short and barked and gunshot-sudden. ~" _In a word: Liberation._ "~ He sits back on his haunches so that he can see both, lower hands on the floor like forepaws. The pose draws attention to the extra joints in his legs, folding in a way that no natural animal's would. ~" _I have no plans yet for the specifics - the taste of realspace is still freshly novel. Most plans are well started by claiming a world or two. But there is time, the game is played across long aeons. We can tend to your desires first if you like, sweet thing._ "~

It scoffs at Jaspar's commentary, jaws scissoring briefly with unvoiced laughter. ~" _'Pet' is a little premature, don't you think? I've not yet stolen this one's volition any more than I have yours. Their soul has drunk less of the Warp than yours, but I imagine that shall soon change if they keep my company. The gods are generous with their gifts!_ "~

“You don’t know how pleased I am to hear that.” Jaspar grins at the daemon, then lunges for the ritualist. “This is for your own good.” They are too shocked to protest. One hand snatches their ankle and he pulls, yanking them off their feet and moving them to a new, horizontal position beneath his ribcage.

Desmios' response is unhurried - by the standards of a daemon of Slaanesh. One hand goes to cover the ritualist, inserted deftly between the mutant and his prey, while another snaps out to snag those antlers. At the same time, his psychic might rolls outwards, a raw, crashing wave of will that commands: ~ ** _BE STILL~_**

Jaspar isn’t sure if it’s the command or fear of the command that freezes him in place. Either way it’s immensely frustrating. The ritualist is still face down on the floor beneath him, though the daemon’s hand covering them and the other in his antlers (how dare it!) means they may as well be at the other side of the station. For a moment he had really thought it might let him get away with it. But of course not.

“Thank you thank thank you” The breathless thanks are muffled somewhat by the folds of fabric rolled over their face by their trip backwards along the floor. Their robes sizzle as saliva dripping from the mutant’s open jaws burns through, they shudder as it hits the back of their neck but thankfully it burns no further.

Desmios deftly slides the ritualist out from under the mutant, then lifts them back to their feet. The tip of his long, agile tail snakes round between the two, defending the ritualist and gently guiding them backwards away from Jaspar. Only when the separation is judged safe does he release the mutant, both physically and psychically.

~" _You will not harm this one. I have offered them my protection. And have we not been civil with you, who so rudely intruded via the roof?_ "~

The second he is released Jaspar shakes his head vigorously, backing away until he reaches the wall. He runs his fingers through his hair and gently strokes the fuzzy buds of his antlers as he tries to calm himself down. “Now hang on, I’ll take responsibility for the rest of my actions but I didn’t intend to fall in here. It’s not my fault the roof gave way.” A deep breath, his expression shifts from hurt and offended to guilty and apologetic. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were protecting them. I must have missed that part. I wouldn’t have tried anything had I known.”

He turns to the area where the ritualist is sheltering behind the daemon’s tail and performs a sort of bow, lowering his chest to the floor and tilting his head. “My name is Jaspar, previously an inquisitorial acolyte, now a monster. I’m sorry I tried to eat you.”

“You tried to EAT me!?” The ritualist wails, clinging to their daemonic protector. They look to the daemon for help? Guidance? An explanation? They’re not sure.

~" _Ahhh, the Inquisition. No wonder you're confused._ "~ Desmios chuckles. ~" _I knew the Inquisition once. Little one, I'm afraid there are a great many things in the galaxy that will see you as snack food. Luckily for you, our large friend here isn't the top of the food chain._ "~

~" _Were you recently with the Inquisition? What are they up to lately?_ "~

“Fuck if I know. They only sent me on one mission, and I didn’t return from that. Didn’t fancy being killed, or shut in the dark again. One life in the Imperium as something less than human was quite enough for me.” He stretches like a gyrinx, arms reaching out and clawing at the ground in front of him. “So I’m afraid I’m somewhat short of exciting gossip.” When he’s finished speaking he permits himself a wistful glance at the cowering ritualist. So near and yet so far.

Behind the daemon’s tail the ritualist opens their moth to protest further, but they are unable to sort out what exactly it is they wish to object to so in the end they keep quiet.

~" _Ah, a shame._ "~ It taps the fingers of one hand against the side of its elongated jaw in a little melodrama of thought. ~ _"What else, then… Can I interest you in an employment opportunity, perhaps? How do you feel about liberating and or ruling the galaxy?"'~_

The tip of his tail pats the ritualist on the back in what is intended as a reassuring gesture, but probably communicates little more than the electric thrill of the daemon's touch.

“I’m afraid I’m going to have to decline. As I said, I’ve been a puppet of larger powers and I did not enjoy the experience. I said my lines and played my part. I’m content with the life I’ve built here. I can do some good, as much as my nature will allow, and I have a family. There’s nothing more I want.” For the first time he looks the daemon straight in the eye, proud, challenging. Although the effect is undermined somewhat by the fact that he’s quite visibly shaking.

While not reassuring exactly, the daemon’s actions do solve the ritualist’s concerns. Why worry about such little things when they are in the presence of something so much greater? Something that had heard their call and answered it, bringing all they had wanted and more. How could anyone not want this? They shake their head, and when they look again at the mutant they do not feel fear, but pity.

~" _Oh my dear creature, you never escape the puppet strings. Your part never ends, the circus never closes its doors._ "~

The daemon shifts, more of its hands on the floor, muzzle shifting closer to the mutant. Uncanny lights swirl in the depths of his singular eye. ~ _"I'll humour you, what good does a monster do?"~_

_Jaspar narrows his eyes. “No. It’s different. I’m not going to get sucked into that BULLSHIT again, do you hear me? No. Get out.” He lowers his head and flicks his antlers, or rather the fuzzy branches that will at some point become antlers. “I’ve made some progress here. I don’t need you and your magic and your corruption messing everything up.”_

~" _Under what authority would you command me, little monster?_ "~ The edge of warmth is gone from the daemon's voice, replaced by a hissing undertone. ~" _Why should I suborn my desires to yours? Why should your 'progress' matter to me? You are but a morsel, little 'monster'._ "~

Well I’ve really gone and done it now. He raises his hands and slowly backs away, very slowly indeed since he’s not very stable hunched forward on two legs. It’s not very elegant. “You’re right, you’re right. You could kill me easily; I have no authority here. I’m not even the one who summoned you. I have no right to ask anything of you, let alone demand it.”

“I’m sorry. It was rude and foolish of me to speak to you like that. But I- I care a lot about the people here. I’ve done my best to enforce laws, to bring some semblance of order and stability to their lives. I can’t give you a reason to listen to me. But I’m trying to keep these people safe, not all of them all of the time, but as many as I can for as long as I am able. So please, don’t be too destructive, try not to hurt them too much. I’m not expecting you to listen. But I have to try.” He stops as his foot finds the wall behind him. His hands still raised in a gesture of surrender he closes his eyes and braces for the expected attack.

“Let ‘m go!” A young woman steps into the doorway and raises a rifle to point at the daemon. Her black eyes glint with fury and the black plates of her loose-fitting armour writhe as things move beneath.

Desmios does not interrupt, but does not let the mutant open distance between them either, slinking forwards at a matched place to keep his jaws close to Jaspar. He listens, and the corners of his maw curve upwards improbably in a smile.

It stays in place as his head swings around to take in the new arrival. His tail shifts to interpose itself between his newest cultist and the threat. Mortals die of well-placed shots. His jaws part very slightly to take in her scent - and to show off his innumerable pointy teeth.

~" _Ah, this must be the young friend. Do not waste your shots, little one. I intend your kin here no harm - so long as he is not hostile to me and mine._ I _have been trying to have a civil conversation._ "~

“Nikota!” Jaspar’s tone is somewhere between relief and anger. “Don’t shoot it, it’s too powerful. I don’t know how they even managed to summon this thing.” He opens his eyes and tries to look _over_ the daemon without looking _at_ the daemon.

It’s unclear if she has listened to either of them as she doesn’t lower the weapon, but she also doesn’t fire it. Movement ripples across her body as the daemon opens its’ jaws, but she doesn’t flinch.

“Don’t hurt her, if you want to talk fine, I’ll talk. I’ll try to be polite even. There’s no need to get her involved in this.”

The very tip of his tail flicks back and forth, but the rest of the daemon remains still.

~" _I am not so cruel as to hurt her for your discourtesies. If I hurt her it will be because of_ ** _her_** _actions. So let us remain civil, hm?_ "~ That last is directed primarily to Nikota. Perhaps she will be unnerved by the effect of his speech on the mind, or perhaps it will pass unnoticed. He doesn't care enough to either enhance it with effort or attempt to suppress it.

~" _You claim to care for the people, you say? You who would consume a person for their own good? An interesting juxtaposition. You have my attention. Tell me, what does your care look like in practice, young monster? What laws do you owe fealty to? What order would you enforce?_ "~

“I do care. Killing and caring are not contradictory, sometimes it is kinder to end someone as they are instead of letting them go on to become something worse, better that they die and are mourned than live on to be hated. In madness people often destroy what they value most, so I feel it is better that they are prevented from going that far.” Jaspar looks with derision at the cultist caressing the daemon’s tail. And then a warning glance at Nikota for good measure. She rolls her eyes; she has heard this one before.

“As for my laws they can be summarised as ‘only predators are prey’. I have to kill to survive but I do my best to ensure that those I kill are ones that the station is better off without. I will not hunt people who are harmless, or helpless. In that way what I do here is not so different to what I did as an enforcer in the Imperium. I remove those who hurt others to prevent them doing more harm.” He speaks with conviction, he is proud of his actions and not afraid to show that. “Of course I am not just grabbing people who look suspicious off the street, I pick my targets carefully. The systems of power here are complicated and fragile but by removing the right people it’s possible to prevent anyone too trigger-happy from getting into a position where they can start a conflict. Or tip the balance slightly so that those that are less awful do better.”

The daemon suppresses the impulse to laugh as soon as Jaspar starts speaking. That would be rude. He asked, so he will keep quiet and listen politely to the answer. Internally, he is cackling over the familiar fallacy that _killing_ can be equated with _ending._

"~ _And what would you do if you had the power to do more? If you needn't limit yourself to nudging the systems of power, but could exercise real control? If you had both the power and the precision to exercise it subtly, without shattering anything fragile? What would you do if you could build a system of your own? What ideals would you enforce?_ ~”

“If I could build a system?” He is suspicious of where the daemon is trying to lead the conversation, but looking closely at their long jaws and single large eye achieves nothing except reminding him how unnatural it is. There is too much depth to the eye, it is too bright, too dark, and thinking about it makes the hairs on his neck stand up. For a moment he feels faint, but he catches himself on the wall before he actually falls over. That could have been embarrassing.

“If that were the case I would want it to be possible to be weak and still be safe, for it not to be each individual’s responsibility to protect themselves but for there to be people who look after everyone. It would be stable, so that people could plan for the future without worrying that it could all be taken away at any moment. Judgement would be swift but based on what they had done, not where they had come from or what their lineage was. Not a place for gods or monsters.”

Nikota relaxes a little and lowers her weapon, there’s something comforting about Jaspar’s familiar complaints about society. And with the size of the daemon it’s not as if she would need to aim, if she ever felt that shooting it that would do anything other than just make it mad.

~" _Not for gods or monsters... Speaks the one who calls himself monster. If you could, you would build your paradise and then walk away from it, hm? Do you think it would survive, in your absence? Do you think that this station could support the forces needed to defend itself against marauding fleets, without the aid of monsters?_ "~ The human - too human - component of its voice is full of curiosity, pressing for Jaspar's opinions with what sounds like interest. There's no trace of sarcasm or mockery in the tone, despite the leading questions.

~" _If you were to raise others up as defenders, and give them - somehow - enough power to protect this place... do you think they would become monsters themselves? Is it possible to hold power and not become monstrous?_ "~

“Jaspar.” Nikota sounds disapproving, disappointed. “Y’shouldn’t say that, t’s not true. Y’re not a monster, y’re a gud person.” She stares him down with intensity, she will accept no arguments to the contrary.

He smiles apologetically to the daemon for this interruption in their conversation and beckons Nikota over. “Well I _was_ trying to kill his friend at the time Little One, it seemed accurate.”

“And yes, I would leave it. An ideal society would not have a place for something like me in it. It costs many lives to sustain me, and if there was enough killing to keep me fed then it would not be the place I had hoped for. Besides, my goal is to create somewhere where people can feel safe, and that wouldn’t be possible with something like me around.”

“As for the problem of power, another daemon once told me that people are either predators or prey. That may have been true there, in Penumbra, but I do not believe that is always the case. Many people who have power will try to abuse it, certainly, but I believe it is possible for people to have strength without preying on the weak. If what people with power can get away with can vary, then it should be possible to make it better.”

~" _Either predators or prey._ "~ It sounds like the daemon is tasting the words. A moment later, another bark of wild, inhuman laughter. ~" _Lies. We are all both, all the time._ "~

He settles back onto his haunches, many-jointed legs folding strangely. His tail tucks his newest cultist in close against his robes, still interposing himself between the fragile mortal and the threats. Poor thing. Perhaps they will find a way to reclaim their self-identity once they have had a chance to get used to his influence, or perhaps they will not. Either way, he will keep them safe and comfortable for now.

~" _Let us say that you've convinced me, Jaspar. What would you do first to make this place more like the paradise you imagine?_ "~

Jaspar glares at the daemon but decides against saying what first comes to mind. “What I would do is what I am already doing. I do want to make things better but using methods I know and understand. I am not looking for a quick fix and I don’t want to get other powers involved. That never ends well for anyone.”

Nikota seems to disagree, and is about to say so when Jaspar scoops her into his arms. She struggles and grumbles a wordless protest but goes limp when it becomes clear he’s not going to put her down. Jaspar cradles her against his chest, turning his body to shield her from the daemon.

“The ideal world is just that, an ideal. A thing to strive for. I don’t want shortcuts or your help, if that’s what you’re offering, daemon. You know what I think of you.”

~" _Ah, you would prefer to hide your head in the sand?_ "~ A low snicker. ~" _I am here now. You can ignore my presence if you want, but I doubt it will make you feel better._ "~

~" _You misunderstand me. I am not offering you my help. I have no reason to care about your feelings. I am offering you an opportunity to have some say in what happens next. If you do not want it, you are free to leave, though I imagine we will meet again._ "~

“It’s jus’ the sort of thing a daemon would do though, ask you what you want and then find a way to make it awful.” He squeezes Nikota tighter and turns, but doesn’t quite commit to leaving, unwilling to turn his back on those jaws. “I want no part in this.”

Nikota twists to get a view of more than just Jaspar’s ribs, the arms holding her are thin and can only hold a small part of her still at once but nevertheless she still has to bend in ways humans shouldn’t in order to see. “Y’could start w’th’gangs controlin’ the shuttle docks, the’ve gut th’most power. Ev’ryun needs the ships t’be able to come in, s’nobody touches them.” Her body hangs in her parent’s arms, looking less like a human woman and more like clothes that have been stuffed with pebbles.

She is nearly dropped as Jaspar stops suddenly to glare at her, but she is entirely unphased and continues to act as if she hasn’t noticed that he’s trying to get her to stop speaking. “S’that th’sort’f thing y’want t’know?”

~" _As you will,_ "~ he acknowledges Jaspar's refusal, unfazed.

He is starting to settle lower to the ground when Nikota pipes up, but he lifts his head attentively at the sound of her voice. ~" _That is exceedingly helpful, yes. Thank you, Nikota. If I go to wrest their power from them, do you know of pitfalls to be wary of? I certainly do not want to halt the flow of supplies, should they take drastic measures._ "~

She has to think about that, and while she does so her scowling guardian takes a few cautious steps out of the corner he’d backed himself into. “Most’f th’people there work f’them, but jus’ preten they don’t. Y’shou-”

Her words are cut off abruptly as Jaspar leaps into the air, reaching with his free hand for the lip of the hole he fell in through.

~" _Thank you, Nikota!_ "~ the daemon calls after them, making no attempt to impede their escape through the roof. ~" _You are welcome to call upon me at any time, I doubt I shall be difficult to find!_ "~

When the mutants are gone, he returns his attention to the ritualist. ~" _I apologise, sweet thing. The opportunity to speak to those rather unique persons was fleeting, and I could not pass it up. We may take some time now to speak of you and your desires, before others are drawn to my aura. Or you may rest and I will begin to fortify this place. There is time, do not feel that you must rush. It is a lot to take in, I know._ "~


End file.
